


Stars are the only things we share

by hathawayne



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2044347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hathawayne/pseuds/hathawayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They didn't win. Neither did Zelena. Maybe they did win, just not with Emma Swan. In the aftermath of Zelena’s demise, Emma has to live with the consequences of being forgotten by all her loved ones. But that might as well be a blessing in disguise, a door to Regina Mill’s heart. Slow-burn swan queen</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And you don't not see me

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** What if this storm never ends?  
>  **Author:** hathwayne  
>  **Rating:** T  
>  **Pairing:** Regina/Emma  
>  **Spoilers:** Post "Kansas", diverse ending  
>  **Summary:** They didn't win. Neither did Zelena. Maybe they did win, just not with Emma Swan. In the aftermath of Zelena’s demise, Emma has to live with the consequences of being forgotten by all her loved ones. But that might as well be a blessing in disguise, a door to Regina Mill’s heart.  
>  **A/N:** The story concept occurs to me after watching the ep “A Curious Thing”. There’s a scene which Regina is put down by Zelena, and she falls to the ground, unconscious. Then I thought wow it’ll be great if Regina is in a coma and Emma goes to visit her ward and takes care of her. So this is how this baby is born. The story is also partly inspired by a sq video that I watched. But I can’t credit it yet because of spoilers. Anyways, this is my first fic ever and I really am looking forward to hearing what people think about it. Reviews are very welcomed and appreciated. You can also find me on my tumblr rskarst. And last but not least, acknowledgements to my beloved Polina. Without you, this wouldn’t have been possible.

* * *

  _You, if you were sensible,_

 _When I tell you the stars flash signals, each one dreadful,_  
You would not turn and answer me  
"The night is wonderful."

 _What thing better are you, what worse?_  
What have you to do with the mysteries  
Of this ancient place, of my ancient curse?  
What place have you in my histories?

_\- D.H. Lawrence , Under the Oak Tree_

* * *

 " ** _You may not know me,but I know everything about you."_**

" ** _That's very conceited of you, but I do know you." Shaking her head, a frown of disapproval and a lingering persistence make way to her face._**

**_Hearing the words, she chuckles at the other woman's visage of perplexity. Well then, there's a whole lot of hell for you to unravel, she thinks._ **

* * *

 

Zelena strode away from the well toward the party, glaring into every one of their eyes. "The curse is working now. I've warned every one of you, I  _always_  get what I want."

Before Regina could retort, green smoke had started sprawling out of the well, snaking down the earth like a deadly serpent. Reluctant to admit, The Witch was right, the countdown indeed had begun. And soon enough, that fine, green smoke would find its way to their bodies. Then it would carry them away to another realm, just like the last time with Pan. But the difference would be that not only they wouldn't remember themselves, they wouldn't even know they had ever existed. And Henry, the son she loved so much, wouldn't have existed either. There was no escape, but there wasn't any use to just wait for it to happen. It wouldn't hurt to try.

The Savior surely was certain of that. Emma rushed forward, Regina coming after her. Zelena clearly loathed her sister enough. With a flick of hand, Regina was flipped off to the ground, unconscious.

"Your enemy is here, witch!" As she said the words, Emma kept in mind of the magic lessons Regina taught her. She mustn't disappoint everyone now, this witch had to die, and she had to die now.

A blue ray of light surged out of her – she could literally feel the magic under her skin. It wrapped around Zelena, and it burnt her just like fire.

"You will see to a day to regret this, Emma Swan, just as the ones who strive to pull me down." Zelena gestures Regina before her eternal closure.

And that's it. With a shudder, she became steam; merged into the long streams of green smoke that now ran wildly and swiftly on the ground.

Despite the fact that Zelena was dead, the smoke poured out had not vanished. They didn't win. Neither did Zelena. And no, there's no escape, the row of Storybrooke's mightiest knew better. But at least they had each other. 

The next thing they knew was that the world was enveloped by green smoke. Maybe they did win, just not with Emma Swan.

* * *

 

_The first thing that crossed Emma's mind was the soft texture beneath her feet. Then it was the uninviting scent of dung that rushed into her nostrils. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose in disgust, regretting the action the moment she had committed it. She made an attempt to stand up from the ground of hay from prompting herself; instead her hand grabbed something else._

_It gave out a snort. That startled her; she winced at once. Soon, she realized the creature she had just touched was a horse. She figured that she was in a stable right away. How did she get there, why she was there, she didn't know. However, it would only deem fit to roll with it as her options were limited. She was stuck in a stall with a horse, so the best she could expect was the horse wouldn't contaminate her._

_She heard footsteps approaching the stall. No matter who was coming, she gathered that it was safer to stay undercover before considering the next move. The footsteps were closing in, and then she heard the door of the stall creaked as it opened. She ducked under as much as she could. Meanwhile, the horse uttered a neigh and then it broke into sounds of soft trotting. When she looked up again, her sight was unblocked because the horse had gone._

_Emma let out a sigh of relief, glad that now the other stalls were vacant too. She crawled out of the stall tactfully and treaded the ground lightly, careful not to bring anyone's attention. There was light at the end of the hallway. Perhaps she could go unnoticed and sneak out of this stinking stable._

_Right at the moment she was going to stick out her head behind the wall and peep, two loud bangs ringed. She covered her mouth, nearly screamed at its abruptness. On second thoughts, she decided to eavesdrop rather than spying. There were distant murmurs of conversations going on that accompanied the crackling sound of fire. It seemed like a somewhat peaceful night. The bangs probably had something to do with the wind._

_Then a fretful scream penetrated the stable, suggesting something unpleasant. This time, she could not contain her curiosity and looked. To her astonishment, she gasped at the sight of horror._

_Before her were three figures in medieval attire, a young man lied on the ground pass out, a young woman wrapping her arms around the young man, and a woman in black with a red, glowing heart in her brutal grip._

* * *

 

A sudden wave of chill wind sends shivers to Emma Swan's spine, awaking her body by stirring a tug from within. Those are the bad days with bad dreams. With another blow of the wind, she kicks, bounces up and hits the headliner of her Bug.

"Shit!" She curses as she wipes the pool of drool leaks from the corner of her lips with the back of her hand.

She wakes up to the Main Street of Storybrooke. Everything seems to be absolutely frozen, except for the leaves being brought up to the air. Her presence seems like the only thing to pierce the peace of it. She can't quite fathom what it is that is hovering in the air, but it is certain that it is not pleasant. The sun has risen and shined but the clean streets are quiet, too quiet actually, and bizarre enough, the broken surface of the clock tower is now repaired. It is precisely six fifteen in the morning. Emma would love to go back to sleep again but the Bug clearly will not serve as a proper bed, so she shoves her hand into the pocket, searching for the keys to home, only to find the reason to give a grunt.

Sluggish and troubled by a severe headache, nevertheless, she twitches the keys and places her hands on the steering wheel. Storybrooke is a small town, so it took little time to get to the apartment. Emma pays extra effort to drag herself out of the Bug. As she did so, she is immediately overwhelmed by the gust of wind that flushes on her face. This is just ridiculous, she thinks, as she shakes her head and embraces herself.

Emma Swan may survive the exhaustion yet, but little does she know something even more appalling is just right at the corner, waiting to reveal itself.

 

 

Emma sprints through the streets and arrives on the doorstep of the apartment. She knocks the door for so many times than it is appropriate. An alarmed and drowsy David answers the door.

"Good morning, Sheriff Swan." David yawns the words out. "What brings you to my doorstep at 6am? Is Zelena back?"

Emma is struck by the expression of "Sheriff Swan". It is true that the town people have called her that but David is not any other residents. He is her father and he has never called her by any other title than her given name. It is obvious that something is wrong.

"Sheriff? Are you alright?"

Dumbfounded and out of words, Emma stares at David, her mouth wide open. "Uh - David, I - Sorry for bothering you, I should probably go." She staggers a few steps backward as she feels her head reeling like a wheel, and her body not herself.

David catches her elbow before she falters, and braces her "Sheriff, you don't look so good. Maybe it's the best you come in and have a cup of tea before you go back to the station."

They enter the apartment, and he settles her on the couch.

"Wait here, I'll get you a cup of tea." Emma nods stiffly.

Emma scans around the apartment made up of cream white peeling wood and bricks, the strange thought of it no longer will be her home hovers overhead. She scolds herself promptly for even think about it. Something is up and she is determined to look into the end of it.

"Here you go." David returns with a cup of tea and hands it to Emma.

She takes a sip of the tea and swallows it nervously. Silently, she is reconsidering Zelena's words, which give a bitter essence to the tea. Like her sister, she is not one to make idle threats. If something bad is going to happen to her, then it will.

Awkward silence hangs in the air, Emma registers her presence must've been a disturbance to him. He shrugs and yawns.

"Sheriff Emma?" A bewildered Henry emerges from the stairs. "It's six in the morning. Is it the wicked witch?"

Henry seems happy to see her but doesn't show any intention to rush into her arms. Of course, it's Sheriff now. It wrenches Emma's heart. He doesn't remember either.

She manages to squeeze out a smile, "Hey, kid. Why does everybody think that Zelena is back from the dead? You guys gotta have a little faith in me."

"Of course we do. You really are The Savior of this town, Emma. I heard that you killed her with a bucket of water, that's totally awesome! But you know, she's cunning." Henry grins.

"Yea, but she's dead for good." Just not killed by a bucket of water. Emma herself knows it better than anyone that she killed the witch with her magic. But she doesn't raise her voice to correct Henry.

"Well then, why are you here?"

'I want to come home but you guys don't know that I am your family' doesn't seem like a good reason at all. After a beat, she stutters the words ,"I - I just ... ugh..um...I just wanna to make sure you guys are okay, you know,um,after Zelena."

"Thanks Sheriff, we are pretty good." He pauses, "But you don't look very fine, and mom isn't doing so well either..."

"I - I'm fine, kiddo. Wait - " Emma is genuinely perplexed. "What do you mean Regina isn't doing very well?"

He scrunches his eyebrows, "Well, she's in a coma at the hospital. The doctors said that it would take a while for her to wake, they aren't very sure when, but they're optimistic."

Emma has no idea what he is talking about. "Yea, yea, I mean Zelena hit her pretty hard. Sorry Henry, I think I have to get going, sheriff business," Emma stands and pats his back. "I'll see you around."

"Do I have to come with you, Emma?" David asks.

"Oh - no, no, I can handle this on my own. I'll see you guys later."

 

 

Emma walks out the apartment and swings the door close.

Exiting the apartment, Emma races down the stairs to her car before she has another spare moment for thought. She makes a mental note to remind herself to check up on Regina. But before heading to the hospital, there is another person that she has to see first.

 

 

Storybrooke is a curious town with magical wonders, and there are two people who are mingled in it. One is apparently in an altered state; however, the other one is obviously very much alive and ready to be questioned. And Emma is going to pay him a visit. She demands for answers, and he's going to deliver them.

Gold's pawnshop is located on the Main Street, driving from Mary Margaret's apartment takes less than five minutes to get there.

Emma storms in, pulls the door open.  _Damn the imp, damn the witch._

The Dark One stands behind the glass counter, in his usual attire of pure black, from head to toe. It is unusual for a shop to be opened so early in the morning. It has taken Emma a little while to realize that it is only about six thirty in the morning as she takes a glance at the clocks on the wall of the pawnshop.

"My, my, what's with that dramatic entrance?" Gold clicks his tongue, "Say, did you notice any loss of property?"

Emma approaches to the counter, wrinkles her nose, "Cut the crap, Gold."

"Dearie, you are one lost, confused lamb." Gold lifts up a finger, to Emma's surprise, no purple smoke comes out from the tip of it.

She indeed is lost and confused, unknowing of what tricks he plans to play on her. She goes with the flow.

"Miss Swan, you left your apartment's keys with me after signing the contract." Gold bends down and takes out a pair of keys from the drawer of the glass counter. "I am a legitimate and trustworthy businessman. And I surely won't make a young woman homeless when she has paid for the flat. I take it that you stayed in your car for a night? That would've explained you're... why you look as white as a sheet."

Emma has always disliked the man's sharp wit and his keen eyesight. Nothing escapes his grip. She doesn't feel particularly comfortable with the fact that she is dealing with a dangerous person but neither does she actually mind. At least this tells her something – She's in the right place with the right person.

She takes another step closer to the counter, picking up the pair of keys skeptically.

"There you go. 15 Mifflin Street, so close to the Mayor." The end of Gold's lips quirks in a sly grin.

"Is this remark suppose to mean something?" Emma presses, speaking of Regina, which reminds her of the purpose of her visit, "But this is not why I'm here."

"Then why you are here, Miss Swan?" He raises an eyebrow, while scrubbing a plate with a cloth.

"Something's up, there's- there's something wrong with the town."

"Curious words, coming from the resident of a town with fairytale characters." That's where it goes wrong. In normal circumstances, the phrase of "daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming" will be applied, not anything otherwise.

Emma's eyes goes wide, the last straw is burnt in the fire of Zelena's curse.

"Who am I?" Emma's inquisition falls through her gritted teeth.

"Is this a test? What are you trying to get from me? Tracing your heredity? Remember, all information comes with a price." Gold answers, seemingly still oblivious to the current situation.

She has no time for games, and she is running out of patience.

"Just answer the damn question!" Emma slams her palm on the glass counter; she herself winces at the loud pang internally. But Gold stands still, cold as stone, not remotely intimidated.

"Who are my parents?" Heat creeps from Emma's feet to the top of her forehead.

"How am I supposed to know, Miss Swan? You arrived here for like… a year? You and I aren't particularly friendly." Gold throws his hands up, his expression ridiculing her sudden outburst.

Emma shakes her head, "No…"

"What is going on, Miss Swan?"

"This is what I should be asking you, not the other way round. There is something wicked in this town, like… a curse."

Gold glares at her with a suspicious look.

"Don't give me that look, Gold. I bet you felt that too. And don't you think it's weird that I'm not … magical but somehow I just showed up in this town? Have you ever considered that I may be dangerous?"

"Yes, I concede that I sense something strange, something I cannot quite grasp but everything seems to be absolutely fine. The witch's sorcery can't possibly go beyond her demise. Regarding the matter of yours, every curse has its own fault, the magical barrier has a hole, people from the outside get in, it happens."

"Well – well, don't you have a problem with it?"

"Now you're just being hysterical." Gold points a finger at her. "It appears to me that, Miss Swan,  _you_  have a problem."

"Don't try to change the subject- "

"Hush now, dearie, and get the hell out of my shop. You are not behaving like yourself." Gold keeps pushing her to the entrance, like the way a proud, rich man scorns at a beggar. He says, not unkindly, "Now go home. Don't make me repeat myself. "

At that point, anger rushes to her head, she wants to scream at him.  _Don't you think that I know that? Don't you think that if I could, I would've?_ She freezes, horrified and shocked by the sudden realization - All these years, she has been running in circles and circles.

Emma Swan has found a home, and has lost it again before she gets to keep it. Try as she might, she'll always, always be the lost girl.

 

 

Crossing from a ward to another, Emma is led to a unit that separates itself from most of the other wards. Through the transparent windows of the hallway, she notices the unit is mostly empty. Making her way to Regina's ward, her footsteps echo in the unoccupied void.

Finally, she comes to Regina's room. She places her palm on the cold, metallic door handle, twists it, and pushes into the ward.

The harsh, uninviting smell of chlorine rushes into her nostrils. It is evident that it's just been cleaned.

Regina is lying in the bed, her eyes closed. Messy tubes connected to her body to machines here and there, giving her a literal touch-me-not appearance, as if she were Edward Scissorhands.

She knows she shouldn't be making this about herself when it seems that Regina's put her life on a line battling her half-sister. She wonders curiously what it is that she's dreaming about, whether she's in pain. Regina looks peaceful enough though, a smooth face.

Emma walks to the side of Regina's bed, sits down in the armchair next to it.

Her chest rises slowly, and it falls as evenly as the former. Suddenly, she remembers something that she's learnt a long time ago - That the human heart will beat slower and slower as it gets older. And one day, eventually, it will cease its contractions. For whatever reason, the thought frightens Emma very much.

She listens to the heart monitor's unusually slow beeps and the thin but flat breathing of Regina's as she makes out an involuntary hum. Her breathing comes in soft, ethereal gasps. Each inhalation clouds the oxygen mask that is fastened on her face, covering her nose and lips. Emma leans closer to study Regina, careful not to touch the wires and tubes that surround Regina's bed. Normally, Regina's complexion has the tone of dusk and a tint of red to it that light up the shrewd, acute perceptiveness inside her, which slashes, whips the world with her sharp wit, demanding it on its knees. But the woman who now lies in front of her is not like the one she knows.

Regina's keen, penetrating eyes now shut tight in deep sleep, her fierce, majestic features now softened and airy, and her complexion now paled by the lack of vibrancy of life.

The brunette's head is wrapped with bandages, which outline the contour of Regina's fine head perfectly. Regina truly is a queen through and through; it isn't until this moment Emma has given a careful consideration to it - A queen's head, a queen's posture. Even draped in the aqua green hospital gown, she's the ever so regal Regina. The only difference is that she's just sleeping.

Emma takes a step back after her close examination, and scans the room. It is a lonely vast of pure hues of blue and green and white, the tiles under her feet ice-cold too. So she pulls back the curtains of the windows, letting the sun in. After that, she sits back in the armchair. The sun is fully exposed in the chilling ward, yet still Emma is unsatisfied, unable to figure out what is wrong with the place.

Like the rest of the unit, other than the noises of machines, the room is deadly quiet. So, she takes a deep breath and starts talking to her, "Hey, Regina, there's a new curse in the town, and um nobody remembers me?"

 

 

Without admitting to anyone, Henry Mills is worried.

It is not an emotion that he is used to. Most of the days, he's dedicated to his belief, possessing an unalterable faith towards it. Just like the first curse, his unfaltering faith of has led to the town's restoration. Ever since then, he has instilled himself with enough confidence to almost everything. It has been a source of strength to him. Yet somehow, that empowering feeling is now nowhere to be found.

There is something, something that he can't name, is wrong with the town. It's like a… a curse. However, with Zelena's defeat in mind, and the fact that time is working perfectly fine, there's nothing seems to be at the wrong place.

Anxiety is getting the better of him, he tells himself. Mother in a coma, laying in a hospital, with round-the-clock care, yeah, anyone who happens to encounter the situation is entitled to being worried, they should be. He is concerned about Regina's recovery, which is very much of an understatement. He wants her back, and he wants her to be well. After all, they have been through so much together, it is only fair to say that they deserve a fresh start more than anyone does.

However, what worries him more is the root to his ill feeling. It's as if there's a hole in his heart, a part there's once there, now it is not.

That's what he has been thinking about though, his mind never quite at every lesson. The teachers may not have shown it, but he knows they are clearly indulging him simply because he has just got back. Therefore, once the bell that indicates the dismissal of school has rung, Henry stuffs his books and pencil bag into his backpack as fast as he can; ready to run to the hospital to visit Regina.

When he gets to the door of the classroom, a calling of his name stops him – It's Paige.

"Yes, Paige?" He turns his head.

"Are you okay?" She crosses rows of desks, a white handbag with her.

"Yea, sure. Why?" He lies.

"You look weary." Paige wears a concerned expression.

"Well um," He licks his lips, and gives his hair an involuntary scratch, "I just need a little time to catch up."

"Oh, where did you go during the curse?"

"I went to a boarding school in New York."

"Did you like it? Did you make any friends?"

"Well, it has a really huge campus but it's nothing interesting." He pauses and shrugs, "I've missed home."

"Welcome back, Henry," Paige smiles gently, she puts a hand on his shoulder. As if she can read his mind, she says, "And your mother is going to be fine."

Speechless, he replies with a weak smile.

 

 

"So you're the Mayor's son?" It sounds more like a statement than a question. The nurse asks Henry as they pass through the wards, her shoulders tensed and her eyebrows frowned.

Henry understands her anxiety, because he has seen the same posture for too many times than he cares to count.

He has little memory of his childhood years, but even amid the vague images of events, he still remembers the first day of school as if it were engraved in his mind. It was the first of September, a day with fine, merry weather, soft winds of autumn blowing on his face. His mother had driven him to the school's entrance; bent down to her heels, and had given a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Go ahead, sweetheart," She said with a smile before she waved her goodbye and stepped back into the car. He waved back. It was going to be a lovely day, he thought with anticipation, he could not wait to meet some new friends. Then he turned on his back, and started walking to the hallway. As he proceeded, he could tell Regina hadn't left yet, and with that, his heart felt safe by her reassuring presence.

However, as it turned out, school wasn't as pleasant as he had envisioned in his idealistic thinking. He walked into the hallway, saw children of his age running and hopping with joy, some were crying, wiping their tears with the back of their hands, calling out for their parents, and some simply wore expressions of bewilderment. But at the very moment he entered, all of these hectic scenes stopped. Henry felt uneasy by the thought that he had disturbed them, a tingling sensation on his back. They were all looking, staring at him. "He's the Mayor's son." He heard their whispers, their giggles, their gasps. But no matter what, they all draped in the same posture – shoulders tensed, lips part in surprise, eyes wide, and their bodies shrinking back a bit. From fear or astonishment or awe, at that age, he couldn't tell. They were all the same, except one. Except the one figure that stood behind the crowd, a woman with a pixie-cut hairstyle and a kind face who dressed in white. She approached him, introduced herself that she was Miss Mary Margaret Blanchard, and asked him how was he. He smiled awkwardly and he said just fine.

"Please call me Henry," He said as he pushes another door.

"Very well then, Henry, here we are." She manages to squeeze out a tight smile before she goes. "Anything goes wrong, press that red button." She points at the button on the wall.

Henry says thank you politely then strolls into the ward.

Arriving precisely at the moment the visiting hours start, there is plenty time to waste. He has come alone, and it is for the best. Mary Margaret has a baby to take care of, and is surely in no time free to spare. On the other hand, David is already busy as the deputy of the town, who can barely wrap himself enough in the joy of new life. And Robin, who he has scarcely conversed with, is definitely not on Henry's list of ward-visiting companions. Once again, he has to remind himself, visiting his mother is not like visiting a zoo, and you best don't bring any friends with you.

It isn't the first time Henry has visited a patient in coma. Therefore he has expected the sharp smell of disinfectant and chlorine, but as he walks in, none of these scents reek of the ward.

He sits by the bed, mindful of the tangled tubes; even it isn't a remotely comfortable position to be. He has brought something special for his mother. From his backpack, he digs his hand into his backpack, reaches out a book.

It is a book from the shelf of Regina's study – Romeo and Juliet. He wasn't aware of it until he has now taken it out of his backpack. Since Regina is in a coma, there is no reason for him to stay in an empty, big mansion; so instead, he is now staying at Mary Margaret's loft. As a result, he has to beg and coax and pout in order to let David drop him off on Mifflin Street, so that he can take a book that Regina might actually enjoy reading with him. In the rush of the hour, he had little time to consider his selection, grabbing the book closest to him then jumped on David's truck, nearly getting them both late for work and school. And Henry is inwardly sorry for the trouble he caused.

Even Henry has no interest in reading Shakespeare; he knows what it is about. For it is infamous for its tragic nature, a reputation that runs deep and long in the pages of history. And Henry, a big fan of happy endings, isn't particularly fond of the writer's devastating perspective of the world, that hope is perpetually lost. But then again, it is not  _his_ world that is written about, and that can really differ. More and more, Henry starts to realize that perhaps, this is Regina's world – always dark. Because like the story of Romeo and Juliet, the ending is written right from the first page and every twist is merely leading to the inevitable at the end of the book.

He clears his throat, looking over to the table on the other side room. The bright red color catches his eyes; he puts down the heavy book and slips down from the bed to the floor with the agile movements like a cat. He stalks to the table, as if afraid to wake Regina, even knowing that his mother is sleeping soundly, her consciousness astray.

Oh, that would've explained why the ward doesn't smell of disinfectant, Henry thinks as he gazes upon the fresh, red roses that fill the room with fragrance.

It appears that he's not the only one who has brought something for Regina.

 

 

 

Emma Swan is having trouble sleeping. Her long night is punctuated by wakefulness. So she blinks herself awake, and starts thinking.

In her newfound apartment, Emma collapses on the bed in exhaustion, feeling dizzy of what has happened. Shutting her eyes momentarily and opens them again. This isn't so bad; she comforts herself, even knowing that is futile.

The apartment is as large as Mary Margaret's loft, and strangely, her belongings are all in it, as if this was her home.

After the visitation to Regina's ward, Emma has gone back to the station. Work is frenzy. In the aftermath of Zelena's retribution, the destruction it has brought is catastrophic. Windows are shattered, cars are damaged, and Emma wonders why the curse hasn't reset all the collateral damages. But mostly, the commotion lies with Zelena's decision of casting the revenge on her, instead of Regina, the target itself. If Zelena is so readily to risk everything just to push Regina to damnation, why pinning this curse on her?

For so long, Regina has struggled with Emma over the custody of Henry. Regina is a possessive woman, thus unwilling to share. And when they have come to terms that Henry is "our" son, it is one huge step. Now, it appears that Regina is on the victory side, not the losing side. She has Henry,  _all to herself_. Henry won't even remember that he has ever seen his birth mother, even she is right in front of him, and he will still be oblivious. On the contrary, Regina's longing wish has been granted. Even counting in the fact that she is in comatose, it is still a war won to her.

Emma believes Zelena is determined to destroy anyone that was in her way. And anything that stops her is only another reason to strengthen her resolve of her vengeance. But what revenge can she possibly get out of this? What revenge can she possibly get by taking Emma out of the equation? There is little impact on the residents because she's still the sheriff, and no harm will be brought to Regina, Henry, Mary Margaret or David since they have absolutely no idea of her existence. It disturbs her because Zelena's intention is truly a mystery, there's no resolution.

She takes a glance over her shoulder, the red digital numbers of zero-three-zero-zero glow in the room. Plenty nights like this are yet to come, she tells herself bitterly, and you better get used to it. But even back in Boston, back in Portland, it doesn't matter where; she has been running, and not once, she has stopped and looked back. Not until Storybrooke.

A sigh is all the words for the emotions she can muster out, as she flops on her back, her hands under her head, and eyes stares dully at the ceiling. She stares, and stares, eyes fixed on the ceiling for so long until she cannot bear it anymore, she turns her body.

It is an unwise turn.

"Shit!" She cusses with a shriek.

Unaware that she is already on the edge of the bed, she rolls over and hits the ground with a loud thump. One of her hand, reaching out mid-air for something for support, but it does exactly the opposite. It sweeps off objects from the shelves violently, clatter along her falling motion, landing on her head.

"Ahhhhh!" She shrills as another object smacks her head.

"Jesus Christ!"

When the tumble is over, Emma props herself, her hand gripping the edge of the bed, she helps herself up gracelessly. She turns on the light, glad to know there's no fragile object of the sort has fallen from the shelf. If she is to be wrapped with a big hat to cover up the bumps on her forehead, god knows how stupid she would look!

She bends down, prepares to retrieve the objects back to the shelf, only to see a thick, old book with a brown, dusty leather jacket on the floor. Emma picks up the book, scraping off the dust on the surface.

From the exterior, it has an otherworld appearance, just like Henry's storybook. Bent around the cover, is leather that straps the book. Emma undoes the knot. On the reddish-brown cover, a flower and a hummingbird is carved, with exquisite craftsmanship. Curiosity propels Emma to continue exploring the book in her arms that has chosen to emerge untimely. She opens the book, the parchment, for bizarre reasons, is still fresh and has not been tarnished by the ages.

A name is written in black ink across the center of the first page.  _Sasha._ Every letter written in capital and in a medieval fashion, with swirls around them. There is no last name. Beneath writes  _A journal_ in cursive ink.

She flips to the next page of the journal, her heart jumping restlessly, feeling nervous.

And there, runs long paragraphs. Emma begins to read.

 

_3 October_

_She was the first person I saw, and it wasn't a scene that I would ever forget. I knew it was foolish, a figure of speech, because memory and history was not an option to a life like mine._

_I doubt I had ever looked upon such a distraught person. Her eyes were filled with tears, yet vacant underneath, washed away by astonishment. Her hair was as dark as a raven's wing, her visage elegant and dazzling, but an air of everlasting, lingering sadness clung to it. From where I stood, I could hear how her heartstrings plucked, the collisions between her restless thoughts. And there was more, I ventured closer, approaching her. Her voice was hoarse, perhaps from screaming, and thick with despair. I wish I could comfort her, but she could yet notice my presence. So I stood and watched._

" _What have_ you _done?" The accusation was clear, and there was no turning back. There, she let out a wail, an excruciating pain in her chest. She shook her head, hands red from clutching tightly, and then buried her stricken face that contorted in the lukewarm embrace._

_In the cool, deadly quiet night, the sole sound was her palpitating heart._

 

 

_For a couple of weeks, I followed her, and I watched her from afar and near. I felt like a dirty old woman doing so. I would like to think of myself as a guardian angel that watched over her, but then I'd be giving myself too much credit. Out of everything I am, I know I am not an angel, far from it actually. And on that day she suffered the great loss, there was nothing I could do to save her from sorrow, I stood and stared blank-eyed. If I were any angel, I would have fixed that, and had the power to._

_But I didn't have a choice. This is what I do. I am a different breed, I reside when people believe I reside. She couldn't see me. So, like a ghost I wander._

_And wander I did. The halls were mostly empty, almost deserted. It was a huge castle, and in them resided so few lives, but too much agony. I roamed them all, my fingers sliding through the walls. I counted the rooms as I went, watching busy, diligent servants rushing by my side yet oblivious to my existence. They came and went quickly, too quickly to notice anything, to think about anything._

_Except one, one that always had something on her mind, distressing her._

 

_One night, I ambled just the same, but the difference was there was a sudden sense of direction in my steps, like a force pulling me closer to it._

_I heard music of harp coming from the tower. It was soft but not without the powerful tug of a heart. Like a tide, pulling back and forth, the tune was ethereal. I accelerated my speed._

_I came before a great door, opened it, and closed it behind me with care. I walked into a bedchamber._

_She was there, the girl with raven black hair. A harp graceful as she was sat by the side of the window, the remains of summer's warmth caressed her smooth skin. Her presence of grace was more than enough to capture anyone's heart._

_Her long, delicate fingers were working effortlessly between the golden strings._

_I stood behind the pillar and watched her play. The tune was beautiful and sweet, but there was a bitterness coated under the sugar above._

_When she was done, I almost clapped with exhilaration; the piece was very well played._

_Just as I was going to exit, I heard her._

" _You don't have to hide in shadows anymore. I saw you."_

_Static in the darkness, I took a deep breath as my heart skipped a beat. I stepped out of the shadows, showed myself. The candle that lit the room was dim and gentle._

" _Come closer." She spread her arms, I drew to her._

_She held her hand up, placing it on the hood of my cloak. Slowly and carefully, she unveiled me._

_A gasp escaped her lips. I winced back inside, afraid of what she saw. But her eyes were calm, varnished with pleasant surprise and intoxication._

_She traced my contour with the tip of her finger softly, her eyes wide with wonder, and in that moment, that everlasting sadness was gone._

" _You're here. You're actually here."_

_I nodded with a smile. "Yes."_

_That night, we sat on the side of the bed, and she told me her histories. She brushed my hair, gave me my name, and told me to address her as Amice, which means "friend", and that we were to be friends forever more. Hearing that, I shifted my head, avoiding her hopeful glance._

_Because I hadn't the courage to confess that, from the day I was born, I knew my purpose – It wasn't to stay, but to perish._

 


	2. All Roses Have Thorns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I am genuinely sorry for the belated chapter update. It should have been sooner but I had to travel and I didn't have my computer with me. But don't worry guys, I'm in this for the long haul and I really will try to update the story as soon as possible. And after my careful consideration, I feel like the new title is better than the old one so I decided to change it. One last thing, non-graphic violence warning for this chapter. Enjoy and please let me know what do you think about it : )

" _We're all in our own private traps, clamped in them, and none of us can get out."_

" _Sometimes we deliberately step into those traps."_

" _I was born in mine, I don't mind it anymore."_

" _Oh but you should, you should mind it."_

" _Oh I do, but I say I don't."_

_-Alfred Hitchcock, Psycho (1960)_

 

Work's a real gem. Emma and David have been answering calls and filling out paperwork all morning.

"For the  ** _fourth_**  time of the day," She accents on the word "fourth" intentionally, hoping he will be self-conscious that patience is draining out of her, "I am telling you that the cost for reparation  _will_  be compensated."

"If you can't fix this, Sheriff Swan, I'm making Leroy come to the station to help me with this!" He yells at her in frustration.

"Don't be stupid," She says that intentionally because the last thing Doc wants to be called is being something less than intelligent. She can hear his tongue clicks too, and before he can respond by denying it, she cuts in. "I am a public servant for the law enforcement, and I would  _not_  be intimidated by or give in to any forces that try to pull me down! Besides, Leroy is so often drunk that I have to arrest him any other day, do you honestly think you have that leverage?"

"I don't care, my goddamn car is broken!" She can hear the deep frown on his face at the end of the other line. "I have waited for almost a month! I'm going to court for this if I don't get paid soon -" Well then you can wait one more month, she rolls her eyes as she says the words out loud in her mind.

"No, you're not going court for this!" She snaps, "Goddamn it, Doc, the Mayor's Office is responsible for the compensation of damaged property caused by Zelena, not the  _goddamn_  Police Department! You call the Mayor's Office, you hear me?"

"I have called like a million times, they kept saying that they will fix it but they never did! They are unimaginably inefficient, how can the Mayor allow this?"

Emma covers her face with her right hand, slides it slightly to her lips to muffle the grunt that comes out from them. She finally manages to squeeze out a response with a grumble, "Well in case you haven't noticed, the Mayor is in a coma!"

"Isn't there supposed to be an acting Mayor?"

"But we do we have an acting Mayor? We don't have an acting Mayor!" Emma growls under her breath, but soon finds her attitude too dismissive, that she can get herself a few reports of complaint. She softens her tone, not desired to earn herself more affliction than she already has caught herself in. "Just… just wait for a couple more days. As soon as the Mayor wakes up from her Sleeping Beauty rest, everything will be settled.

"Sheriff Swan, I need my car back! I live on the coast side of the town and every morning I have to take a bus then another bus to get to work."

"You think you're the only who needs their life back, huh? You think you're the only one who needs the Mayor back? I want my Mayor back too!" Emma yells at the phone, frightened of the words that have ran out of her mouth without consent. David turns her head to her, who is drawn by the attention of the loud volume from her room and shoots her a dazed expression. Emma waves it off; he turns around and goes on with his phones calls.

"What I am trying to say is," She clarifies without catching her breath, attempts to steady her voice, "The town needs the Mayor, yes, but temporarily there is nothing you and I can do but wait. But really, how bad is it? "

"How bad is it? Imagine, if you will, a car with a sunken front and no windows."

"Whoa, that's bad, I'm sorry for your car." She can't imagine her Bug in such a battered state.

"Well, I am too."

She sighs, as there's not much she can say, "In the meantime, the best I can promise you is that I'll help you to look into it. But no guarantees."

"Fine." She can feel his defeat, hearing his breathing.

"So I guess I'll fill out forms for you to tell the Town's Hall staff to look into it. So it's just Doc, right?"

"Yup, that's right."

"Okay then, Doctor. Have a good day, and don't call us for any time being that has to do with your car."

Hearing those beeps on the phone is like music to her ears. She slams the receiver on the phone, and mutters something unpleasant.

 

 

At lunch, Mary Margaret comes over to the station. Normally she doesn't do that because she has her lunch at the school her works at. However, these days she is taking maternity leave and busying herself with drenching herself in the joy of celebrating the arrival of new life.

Emma is not very sure about her feelings concerning this arrival of sibling.

Technically speaking, any family she had doesn't count anymore but it doesn't stop her from caring any less. This little brother of hers is lucky, she thinks, he is born with a family. Although she isn't certain of how Mary Margaret and Charming are going to raise him, (with their adventures perhaps), at least he has people to care for him. She didn't have that when she was born, and that has burdened her since then.

Jealousy is not quite the description because it really isn't in her position to be, and everything that has happened has nothing to do her parents' decision. But somehow, there is still a tiny teeny part of Emma that is furious at them. The way Emma thinks it is just making her lacerated by guilt as much as they are.

There was a choice, just like everything else is, and they would've been together. And after all these years, it is revealed in that dark, chilling cave in Neverland, her mother's secret condemns towards her actions turn out to be a wish to start fresh.

She had felt unwelcome again, just like she had been with her foster families, and that she didn't meet her own mother's expectations, that she's not even accepted by her own, real family. They have told her that's not the case, and that they're proud of her no matter what, but they do want a new child, to right all the wrongs, that this time they'll do it right.

She accepts that, she respects that. She has a child too, therefore she understands.

However, she cannot apologize for her heart – that stirring in her guts and her heart swelling up – when she sees Mary Margaret coming through the door, pushing the stroller into the station. And David spots her the second she gets in, holding up whatever he is doing, and rushes to press a sweet, soft kiss on the cheek of his wife in ecstasy.

If Regina were here, she would her eyes and mumbled "idiots" in return, Emma quietly muses. She quickly frowns at herself at having such a peculiar thought.

Mary Margaret catches the motion of eyebrows, and asks, "Hey Emma, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good," She feigns a smile, but her palm and forehead are sweating, "Better than ever."

"Do you want to have lunch with us? We can go to Granny's for lunch." Mary Margaret frowns with concern.

"Snow's right, why don't you come and join us? The more the merrier." David echoes.

The clean slate isn't entirely without advantage actually. At least now they are stripped of the family statues, and there's finally a chance for Emma to be best friends the way they used to be. And Snow/Mary Margaret doesn't need to worry about having an all grown-up daughter anymore. Emma doesn't think as it in a sarcastic way, but rather relieved in knowing so. Everything is so fucked up. And things before it started it all were fucked up then, too. But after the series of events that they have been through, they can't just wipe them away with the flick of a hand. They are like thrones, one by one, stabbing into her, goring that friendship to death. There was nothing to change it, until this happened. Now she can be spared of the occasionally condescending remarks from Mary Margaret. They are equals and on the same level. With that, Emma also learns being a parent is more than just giving advises when they see fit. It's so much care and love and effort to give, it's very draining but it's very rewarding. And sometimes still, Emma just doesn't feel like she's enough of a parent for Henry.

Mary Margaret is so much better as a friend than as a parent in that case. (Less annoying, more caring and friendly) They can tell, they sense something is not right, but it's nothing they can understand, and Emma also doesn't have the energy to make them do. But they are trying hard, like the way they always do. They are exerting themselves in cheering her up and being inclusive. She really, really wants to go with them. Her heart tells her to but she knows she can't. Watching them with oblivious, but genuinely happy smiles, all she feels is the excruciating pain in her chest.

The word 'yes' is one sip of air left to slip out, but she forces it down. So instead, Emma takes a deep breath and says, "Oh I'd love to come but ugh I've got plenty work to finish up. I'll just grab a burger or something then I gotta jet." She stops by the stroller and takes a good glance at her baby brother; he's got his father's eyes and his mother's lips, he's beautiful.

She slides a finger to his forehead, and makes a coo sound. He catches her finger lightly and squeaks in soft laughter. Emma chuckles and gives out a broad, warm smile.

"Didn't know you like kids much, Em," Mary Margaret raises an eyebrow.

"I've always had a soft spot for children," A smile makes its way to her contour.

"It's nice to see you smile again, Emma."

"Yea, it feels good to smile. I'm sorry, really, but I gotta go, I'll see you guys around." She waves her goodbye, and to her baby brother too. He returns with a beam. That's nice, he likes me too, Emma thinks.

 

 

She escapes the station with a sigh from her lips. There is a strange exhilaration that swells up in her whenever she goes to visit Regina, it's almost pleasant.

Mid-afternoon's blazing light descends from the cloudless sky into the ward. A piece of bright blue sky, with such heat, still won't warm Regina's features or Emma's heart. Emma arrives, bringing fresh flowers with her. She inserts the roses into the vase next to the iron-framed bed.  _So she could wake up to the fragrant smell of flowers_ , she thinks to herself quietly.

After settling the flowers, she comes in front the armchair and sits. Looking around the ward, despite the fact that she has been here more than a few times; she still isn't used to its excessive spaciousness. Shifting in her chair for a more comfortable position, she stares at the unconscious woman, and starts speaking in a soft voice.

"Hey, Regina. I've come to talk with you again." She licks her lips. It's like they were old friends.

A week has passed by since she has first walked into the isolated ward; it has become a sort of routine that Emma performs.

"Work is a totally crazy shit storm. There's this guy, whose car got broken by Zelena's showdown, he kept calling to ask me to fix his ride. He called like three or four times to my office, every time demanding me to compensate. I was so mad, I practically yelled at that dude. Okay, I know that you're gonna say that people will file complaints, but well not like I actually gone crazy. I told him that the Mayor's office is responsible for the compensation. That moron said he called like every single day but then the town hall's staff is just too hectic because –" She stutters as she realizes what she is going to say.

She chuckles wryly, trying to cover the sadness deep inside, "Well, because you're all passed out and you can't possibly do anything about it."

"You gotta wake up, sassy girl. The town needs you. Henry needs you. Mary Margaret needs you."  _And I need you._ She leaves them out, fights her hardest to scratch them away.

Emma resumes, "She literally needs you. Motherhood is not her strong suit. She can't change a diaper without getting shitted in the face," She laughs lightly, knowing that if Regina was there, she wouldn't be able to contain herself. Then her mind wanders off to the second day they've met, how Regina defensively poured acid of words over her. How she "changed every diaper, soothed ever fever, endured every tantrum." In the past decade, Regina has been an eleven out of ten mother. She has raised her son well. And even Emma regrets giving up on Henry, she has never once regretted putting Henry into Regina's care. So this is how it feels, to have threats poofed out of nowhere, impolitely barging in her life. Emma practically knocked down her kingdom of cards, deprived her of her happiness, even if it's never meant to be permanent. It isn't so different from her own situation.

"I'm sorry," She apologizes, genuinely guilty, her eyes downcast.

But she is left in silence. It saturates the ward that it spills out to the cracks of walls and cracks of Emma's heart.

She sniffles, "Oh, give me a sign." Then she closes her eyes. In the mild dark, she sees everything, she can't see anything.

Suddenly she feels a tiny tingling sensation brushing her fingers. She looks down, and notices Regina's fingers' movement, the quivering against hers that are resting on the side of the bed. The edge of her lips curves a little, but still not enough to call it a smile. But then she hears the cardiac monitor starts beeping in erratically; Regina's heart rate is accelerating rapidly and the numbers on the screen are constantly rising.

Emma's heart flutters capriciously just like Regina's eyelids do. A shudder runs through her flesh and bones, but her head is on fire. Panic eats her up like a swarm of deadly creatures.

Emma hears herself shouting for help – a voice of dread and desperation.

This all too carries too much familiarity, Emma thinks. When Henry had eaten the poisoned apple turnover, he collapsed like a fragile tower of jenga, toppled over to the ground. With his eyes closed, he was one world away, his mind drifted to another realm. All she could think of was, language has a bad humor; he slept like the dead, how well said. And she remembers no matter how much she exerted herself in wrapping her hands around his, they were static and cold. The warmth of his body had left him just like the life that was blown out of him, and the dry, monotonous sound of his death sentence hung in the crisp air.

Their connected hands break off, a cut cord, its electrifying sensation still lingers. Emma turns her head to Regina. Her life is a plain, smooth line, leaving her in lethal silence.

"Don't die on me, Regina," Emma breathes, leaning in to shake Regina's hands, "Don't you dare."

There's no response.

"Regina," She slaps her cheeks, but they remain pale, then she shouts "REGINA!"

The medical crew starts rushing in, like angry tides of sea, diffuses her. A nurse pushes her out of the ward, and tells her to wait outside.

Air lifts out of her lungs, and surges the words forward. Her voice, like a bullet shot at the water, leaves her chest but is again inaudible.

From the ajar door, she sees the nurses draw the curtains above Regina's bed. The world swims before her, and her knees weak. Tears cascade down the curves of her contour, she blinks them away. Then a wave sweeps over, smothering her. Her eyes are in a haze, dots of hues and light beams shimmer. She covers them with both of her hands. Lazily and slowly, darkness gathers itself, closing her in.

 

 

_We sat in the dining hall without a sound, waiting._

_Her hands clasped closely together, and her knuckles were pale from the tension. But it was already pass dinnertime, and no one had shown up. Plates of exquisite cuisines were placed all over the dining table that stretched from one end of the hall to the other, but it was only her and I._

_We had watched rows of servants entered with the food and served them, when it was still fresh and warm, when fine smoke of heat was smoldering and the hall was brimming with the delicious scent of it. It would've been nice. But we had waited, waited, and waited. It was already long pass dinnertime, but no one had shown up. From before sunset, to the point where shadows had fallen upon we were still as a stone in our chairs. I extended my hand for hers. It was not so hard to detect the apprehension of hers._

_After the church bell rung, I said, "Does it usually take so long?"_

_She seemed to be in deep thought, and when she turned to me her features were arranged to a forcefully lighthearted smile. "What takes so long, dear?"_

" _The waiting."_

_I remembered hearing the gulping sound of her throat and her murmuring, but her voice was far too small to be audible. For a moment, an uncomfortable sensation settled on me. I felt embarrassed, not by her of course, but by myself. I was incompetent to soothe her. I had a sudden flash of revelation over my mind: no matter how hard my heart contracts, it's nothing compared to hers._

" _How often do they come to dinner?"_

_She winced as my grasp contracted, her hand struggling, recoiling to the silver goblet. I noticed her hand's quivering as she grabbed it and took a nervous sip of the wine. It colored her lips with ripe red, the corner of it streaming the fluid. It was too bold of me, but it almost came out automatically, my hand had already lurched forward against my will, brushing the stain away. My fingers only rested for a fleeting moment because I withdrew them as something dark stirred inside me. I bet she felt that too. But she didn't seem to mind the momentary intimacy._

" _Try the berry, it looks ripe." I said, my hand holding it out to her._

_Her face formed a grimace, "I don't feel like eating, Sasha."_

" _What about a strawberry cake?"_

" _I really don't have an appetite to…"_

" _Ah! Apple pies, you love apple pies, a bite maybe?" I could tell her eyes shone, even just for a bit._

_She leaned forward, taking a tiny bite of the pie, chewing it delicately. I smiled in return, despite my stomach was churning vigorously._

_Finally, I managed to get the words out._

" _They aren't coming, are they?" I tried my best to soften my sour tone; anger was coming over me._

_She wore a wistful smile, shaking her head, muted._

 

 

First, it is the sound, sharp as a knife. Her eyes fly open. Then it is the darkness. And then there is a pleasant scent. It is the sweet smell of roses.

She sniffles; but she can't. She sniffles a bit harder. Still, the attempt of such simple action is feeble. Something is wrong. There's a slow burn heat in her abdomen, swarming up to her head. Panic. Regina Mills is sure that she kept no roses at her home.  _Why aren't I at my house?_

She blinks a few times, trying very hard to rid of the intrusive thought that enters her mind.

 

 

Back in the days, the dark days – oh the age has a name; indeed it was the dark ages – etiquette was vital, and a woman's reputation was her everything. Mother had been insistent on that. There was so many to follow on her great list of the grand plan of pushing her up to the throne, it was beyond smothering. "You have to act like what you plan to be", she said. It was her other motto other than reminding one that heart was a liability in the pursuing of power. Mother had marked her, engraved her with endless, harsh teachings and expectations from the day she was born. She didn't even need to ask, she knew, she knew Queen was written in her name. And she had no trouble to be reminded in every waking moment that she was to be one, act like one. Mother's effort and energy to perfect her was forever unfailing. And every step she took was not easy. But the lessons – learning to walk wearing corset while having three books placed on her head, remember the crests of all the noble houses, being able to recite the sonnets – they weren't the hardest to take. It was the punishment that was pure suffering. As a young lady and a grown one, Regina can think of a million ways that she is disappointing Mother every morning she wakes up, that she is not ladylike enough, that she is not enough in every way imaginable, and that she is softhearted.

Sometimes, when Cora was not interested in doing it herself, (in truth, mostly, it was that she had other errands to run for) she'll simply had servants thrown her into the dungeons, or lock her in her chamber for self-reflection or something even worse: lock her up in the cupboard.

Usually when she was locked up in the dungeons or her chamber, Mother would have servants put mirrors all over the room. And before she was pushed into the room, she would tell her coldly to "take a good, hard look at yourself." But it was more than that, because the mirrors were also there for her to supervise her, to watch closely so she didn't run away. But why would she,  _how_  could she?

Mother would lock her in, and then let her out past dinnertime. Standing in the cupboard was what Regina would think of as a punishment in hell. In the tiny, uncomfortable cupboard, she could hear her surroundings very clearly, which included the clock. She could hear every clank of the clock, and also the church bell from afar. Sometimes the confinement would take an hour, sometimes two hours, sometimes maybe more, she lost count. Everything was up to Mother. Every decision was to fit her fury and her satisfaction.

In the cupboard, there was nothing, only blackness. In the layers of darkness, nothing is palpable. Absolutely nothing.

It clamped in her body, squeezing her tightly. And since the cupboard was so narrow, she couldn't move an inch for a better position, she couldn't cringe or squat. She was always wearing a corset, and moving was even more useless.

When the confinement was over, there was something even more dreadful waiting. Most of the times, at the point when the punishment was close to an end, there would be the scent of roses. Then she would know she would soon be let out. Later, the doors would open; the unforgiving light would sear her eyes that she had to squint, and Mother would be standing right there. There would be kettle of rose tea sitting on the table, drowning, choking the room with the smell of roses. It was such a sickly, sticky sweet taste. And not only there would be rose tea, Mother would be all loving and warm like a mother should be, with her arms wide open to welcome her. It was just awful, being wrapped in her arms. And so often, tears would just burst out her eyes and flow relentlessly. It wasn't only the barely endurable incarceration but the messy, overwhelming thoughts and feelings running her down. During that reflection, hateful, horrible thoughts would spite her mother's doings; they would speak to her like voices in a person's head. But there the hour was over, Mother was there, so affectionate, so caring. It was guilt that was drowning her. How could she bear such insensible, wicked, nasty thoughts?  _She loved me_ , she had said it. She was only headstrong in raising her to be good and presentable. But there was another perspective, there always is, if that was the truth, why being so cruel and harsh?

That war in her mind would never stop; it goes on and on, even now. It is an ugly contradiction. She still has the conviction that love is weakness deep inside, yet she is still convinced that she is deluded by the years of misplaced education.

Confused and falling apart, she could scarcely hold herself together.  _You can still fight it; you have the power to deny her kindness._  She told she didn't listen and the only thing left to do was for her to be in her embrace, clutching tightly to her mother's arm, her eyes closed because the light was just too bright, crying and crying until her voice cracked. And she would stroke her hair so lightly like breezes, as if her touch was fire. She whispered so lightly like the way leaves fall to the ground, and her voice almost sounded… rueful underneath.

She hated this. It disgusted her; it sickened her to the bottom of her soul. Mother was right; she was just as  _weak, and soft, and fragile_ as she told her she was.

"It's all right now, sweet girl. You know I never want to hurt you."  _But you did it anyway._

She screams.

 

 

_One morning, when she got back from the King's bedchamber, I suggested to her, "Why don't you go find yourself a sweetheart?"_

_Once in a while, she had to spend the night at his majesty's room. And until she got back, I would sit on the edge of the bed, wait until she gets back the other morning. As Queen, it was her duty to warm his bed. But most of the time, it was just nothing more than a routine that needs to be performed. He didn't love her that much was obvious, he was still clinging to his deceased wife. In the castle, the only people she knows are the King and the Princess. The King, she had just as little affection for him as he did for her. And the Princess, she resented the slightest mentioning of hers, let alone her presence. As for the court, it was nothing like a foreign country to her. They knew only her name, and her diaphanous sadness that she carries everywhere she goes, but they didn't know her intricate story, nor does their concern lie with her best interests. And the denizens of this country, they were just as clueless. They called her "The Young Queen", cold and fair, and the description of being stern and possessing a frigid nature would never fails to follow. Such injustice was in no position to be put into rest. They didn't know, they didn't understand, behind those fanciful gowns and dresses and jewelries, was a girl full of scars and sorrows. And in that big, empty castle, there was no one for her._

_Her expression immediately tightened, eyes wild, and her hand sprawled over her stomach, very fretful. "What- what do you mean, Sasha? You don't...you don't want me anymore? "_

_I chuckled, she was still confused. I took a step forward to her, holding her hands. "No, what I mean is that you should find yourself a real friend."_

_"You're real enough to me." Her face was stubborn, my grin grew wider._

_"Amice, a presentable person is what I am saying. A friend that you can introduce to the court, something of the sort."_

" _Oh." She raises an eyebrow timidly, "Like a... Lady friend? Or a... "_

_I arched an eyebrow, encouraging her, "Go on."_

_She opened her mouth, silent for a moment, then she murmured, with a slight reluctance, "- A knight."  
I knew what she was thinking; her expression betrayed her, screaming her notions out loud. A shade of dismay smeared itself over her face, tinted with the color of darkness. A bad experience._

_It still hadn't been a full week after the fairy with green wings had flown away._

_"I'm not saying anything about fairy dust or true love. Just a friend." I dispelled her fears, dismissing her worries of having an affair, brushing her dark locks with the back of my hand._

_I shifted my hands to her shoulders, her forehead resting against mine. "The one and only thing I wish and I'll ever wish is for you to be happy."_

_She started shaking her head, pulling away a bit. She spoke softly, almost like a whimper of a caged bird, "Alas, there's no more happiness that my suffering can make room for."_

It seems quite destined that Emma Swan is not going to get some sleep tonight.

After reading another entry of the book she has found, she has clamped it shut and put it on the end table beside the bed. Reading has never been a frequent habit of hers. When you were a kid, everybody encourages you to read. But it's just not very much for Emma. She is more inclined to interact rather than just reading the words, it feels more solid and less monophonic. Therefore, when given paperwork to do at work, she's vexed. And that's also perhaps is why she's never quite good at school. Language subjects are just twits; she can't help but care less about the contemplation over the meaning of life. Maths is okay but it's just not very fun. Sciences however are nice. Emma likes to figure out how the world works, it's amazing, watching the mechanical of things. There is something fascinating about just staring, watching the operation of a factory, or a machine, or human body or just something. It's comforting, and there's something wonderful about it at the tip of her tongue that she can't explain it to anyone.

There are times, when she had ran away from detentions, or simply a normal day after school dismisses, she would find a bench in the street and sit down to watch. Watching busy people go, yet you are sitting in the middle of them, so lonely and secure, like the eye of a tornado gives Emma the strangest feeling in the world. It's lonesome and lost and out of things, but at the same time, it's soothing. In the way that as if she's invisible and fading and people just keep walking by, it's peaceful, it's like nothing bad can ever happen.

Sitting by Regina's side has that effect on her. Watching Regina is more than that, it's less lonesome and more peaceful. And she doesn't feel like fading anymore.

"Are you Miss Emma Swan?" The beeping of her phone wakes her up once again, she picks up promptly. The voice on the other line sounds urgent.

"Who's this?" She whines, propping herself on one elbow. "Do you know it's the middle of the night-"

"We're truly sorry that, but this is the hospital calling on behalf of the mayor. It's quite import-"

"I'll come now." That's all she said before she slips her feet on the floor to get ready.

 

 

Emma rushes to the ward as quick as she can. She arrives, seeing a nurse and a doctor standing outside the ward.

Panting from running, she asks, "So what's the situation? She's- she's not…" She can't finish the sentence. Her mind rewinds to the daytime she visited. The idea is just too horrifying to be spoken.

"No, no, she's not. She's fine." The doctor answers.

"Then what happened? And why am I the only one who is informed?" Emma scowls.

"She called for you." The nurse replies with a tight, sad smile. Emma's palms are sweating. Why on earth will Regina call for her?

"So she's up?"

"She was, temporarily."

"That's not vague at all." Her tone grows harsher.

"She was awake from comatose. She screamed, she cried out your name. But then her heartbeat was too irregular, we had to sedate her. You can go in and look at her if you like to."

Emma takes a peek at the glass window overlooking the ward, she walks in.

The ward is almost completely dark. The only light is the one over the desk next to the bed, illuminating the figures displaying on the screens of machines. Emma takes her seat, squinting at the unconscious Regina. She's exhausted, her eyes dry. Regina seems to be glowing in the rim of light.

Emma runs a hand through her locks, and then rests her chin on it. "They said you called for me."

There's no answer.

The only sounds are her soft breathings, beeps of machines, and the rain that starts dropping from the sky, landing on roofs and surfaces.

"I think you should say something, since you called for me." She says as she pours herself a cup of water. As she spins on her heels, she notices the mirror hung on the wall. She has been here for a week but never noticed it until now. The face is ashen, cheeks concave, and lips are pale. She looks disintegrated, she thinks. Emma gives them lick, just so to add a bit of color to her complexion.

Emma turns, her eyes light up with pleasant surprise. Regina's eyes are somewhat, slowly open. They blink exceptionally slow, the light in them glint. Her lips are part, and they make out what sounds like a sigh.

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to." She whispers. "Shush, now go back to sleep. I'll be right here, all night." Emma brushes her cheek with the back of her hand. It's smooth, like marble. It's like she understands Emma's words and she's found reassurance in them. Drowsily, Regina's heavy eyelids close.

And next, she doesn't know what possessed her, she starts to cry.

 

 

_For the rest of the nights, the ones that she didn't need to go away, she spent them with me._

_We nestled under the sheets. They wrapped around our heads like tents._

_"Where did you get that?" My thumb caressed her upper lip. That's a scar that I'd noticed from the first day I met her but never had the chance to ask._

_"That is a long story."_

_I'm not satisfied with that answer, because it sounds fairly evasive, so I ventured closer. She fully understands that there is nothing she needs to hide from me._

" _And I have all the time in the world to hear your story." I smiled._

_She beamed back; her face was glowing with joy and pride. "That's the one time that I stood up to my mother when I was a child and I am proud of doing so."_

_"I used to really hate the scar; it looked like such an ugly flaw to me. But then I grew to like it as I grew up. Here's the story of it. When I was about ten or eleven, my father and I went riding; we found a wolf pup in the woods. It was young and abandoned with a crippled leg. I begged my father to let me take him home and I would take good care of it. Eventually, he agreed. So, I did exactly what I promised him, I took good care of him, I walked with him, I loved him. My mother never approved of the wolf. And seeing how much I loved the wolf, she wanted to teach me a lesson. She always told me that love is weakness, and it's only a matter of time I learn. She told me to get rid of the wolf, or else she would. I didn't listen to her words. Instead, I trained the wolf. There's once, she tried to strike me because I wasn't being ladylike, the wolf stopped her. At that moment, I felt exhilarating, even knowing that'd follow by grief."_

_"It did. The next day, my wolf started snarling and growling at my presence. Then later, it attacked me. At first I didn't stop it from fighting back because I loved it and I couldn't bring myself to harm it. But then it was growing rabid and then it jumped on me and gave me a deep scratch across my upper lip. My mother was just in time to stop it from slashing out my throat. My wolf was reduced to ashes by her magic. And then she healed me, preached me how love was getting me killed, that it was a weakness. I didn't retort, the only thing on my mind was that I was convinced she arranged all of it. She healed all my injuries but that scar remained. And that's a mark I'm proud to bear."_

_"I like your scar. I think it's beautiful." I leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her scar._

_"You don't have to say that to please me." She stroked my hair, a sad smile on her face._

_"No, I'm saying this because I think you're beautiful. The scar makes you special, and being special makes you beautiful. And I want to tell you that I'm proud of you, I'm proud of you being so brave."_

_"Thank you." She whispered, her voice shaking a bit._

 

Emma stops, and her eyes land on Regina.  _This Amice in the journal is actually Regina!_ It is truly terrible, reading all sorts of misfortune of this woman had to encounter, but it is nothing as terrible as the knowledge of actually knowing this kind of things has happened to someone she knows. It's like watching the news report, you see all these unlucky folks that fall into traps of reality, traps of the evil in the world, and you think to yourself that those things will never happen to you that this would only happen to "the others". Sometimes you would even joke about them, because you are so certain it's not going to happen, that you're not going to be scammed, that you're not going to be robbed, that you're not going to be murdered for no reason at all, that you're not going to be orphaned, that you're not going to suffer like everyone else does, because it's always "the others". In fact, that's what everybody thinks, that's very likely what the ones who were unfortunate to encounter the tragedies thought too. Because that's what people do, that's exactly how people are so naïve to convince themselves readily, as if they wish hard enough, these stuff won't happen to them.

Oh, but they do, they do happen to them. They eventually will understand.

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Snow Patrol's song - What if this storm ends?


End file.
